Sounds of a Battery Hen
By Karen Davis

You can tell me: if you come by the
North door, I am in the twelfth pen
on the left-hand side of the third row
from the floor; and in that pen
I am usually the middle one of three.

But even without directions, you'd discover me.
We have the same orange-red comb,
yellow beak and auburn feathers,
but as the door opens and you hear
above the electric fan a kind of
one-word wail, I am the one
who sounds the loudest in my head.